Pretender
by 00Derezzed00
Summary: Imulsion exposure is producing unpredicted and uncontrollable effects. Avery Chase is an ordinary Stranded, or so she'd like the COG to think. So what happens when they knock on her door, and what secret is she desperate to keep when Baird investigates?
1. Caught Out

Disclaimer: I do not own and am not affiliated with 'Gears of War'.

Author's Note: my first proper Gears of War fanfic! I will be using original characters later on in the story. A small warning that there is mild swearing in this chapter.

Reviews are very much appreciated! =)

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She was stomping her boots on the back landing, unaware that the rickety house now contained guests. She stomped harder, making sure there was no snow left packed in the grooves of the soles. It was icy outside and would chill anyone to the bone, but she was dressed in a flimsy t-shirt and her tan skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She finished stomping, wiping her forehead. She glanced around her. For some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. There hadn't been a locust attack in a very long time and she didn't think that's what was happening here. She frowned, pushing open the back door. She shut it softly behind her, feeling a gust of warmth engulf her. It was almost _too _warm for her liking. She swung the rifle out of the leather strap tied along her back and laid it gently on the side-table. An extra clip of bullets was swinging back and forth in her pocket. She lifted them out, leaving them next to the old, unused rifle. The heat was becoming oppressive. She huffed, pulling the shirt away from her moist skin. Something was cooking too – a warm, vanilla smell wafted in the air. She grinned.

"So mama _did_ use the vanilla beans," she murmured to herself.

She rounded the doorway, her eyes heading straight for the kitchen bench. She spotted the source of the scent - a large cake tin, overflowing with a soft, fluffy vanilla cake.

"Well, hello there."

She approached quietly, arms outstretched, hoping deeply that no one would barge in and stop her. No one did, and for the moment that she tore a large slice of cake and stuffed it in her mouth, she was completely oblivious to the soft, agitated murmur taking place in the next room.

With the last bite, a familiar wave of pain washed over her. It was a sort of rippling sensation in her abdomen, though it wasn't uncommon to transform into the feeling of her stomach tearing itself apart. She froze, gripping her stomach, a bite of cake stuck halfway out her mouth. She struggled to swallow it as she stumbled to the door to find her mother. She yanked it open, shutting her eyes as her stomach did another gut-wrenching back flip.

"Argh, it's made me sick _again_," she exclaimed loudly. She squeezed open her eyes, and felt like she had been kicked in the stomach – that was apart from what the pain was doing to her. A squad of COG soldiers squashed the small couches in the front room – her mother sat frozen in the small chair opposite them. She looked scared as she nervously wrung the edge of her dress.

"What made you sick again?" one of the soldiers spoke up, a hard edge to his steely voice. He was much older than the others, so she guessed he was higher in rank. The others sat silently, their eyes glued on her. Avery was taken aback and she shuffled awkwardly on her spot, feeling the pain take the back seat – it was supplanted by something much worse.

"Just the cold…" she lied, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. The sergeant smiled, a long thin line across his face. The smile didn't reach his grey eyes.

"The cold hey? That tends to happen when you walk around in this weather with no jacket."

She blushed, though not with embarrassment. She was afraid – she threw her memory back a few hours before and scanned the snow-capped conifer trees for peering eyes. She found none, and instead, gaped silently at the soldiers.

"So, you care to explain why you went out without one?"

"Why were you spying on me?" she retorted, reflexively straightening up and folding her arms across her chest. It didn't make an iota difference – each of these men was easily 6 foot and 180 pounds. The sergeant raised an eyebrow.

"Reports of strange locust activity in this area warrant watching out for our citizens." He sounded almost surprised. Why _wouldn't _people want their protection?

She wanted to scoff at his way of phrasing, but she was stuck on the first part of his sentence. Her mother glanced rapidly between Avery and the soldiers, panic building in her soft brown eyes.

"_Strange_ locust activity?" her mother blurted out, gluing her eyes to that of the sergeant's. He narrowed his eyes and nodded.

"Yes, _strange. _You ever heard of a grub that hangs out in the forest beside a stranded settlement and does nothing?"

Avery flinched at his use of the word "stranded." She wanted to stop him, correct him, and give him a history lesson of the town and its people, but she forced herself to focus on his words. After all, they were coming a bit too close for comfort. She shrugged, trying the offhand approach again.

"Maybe. They do new things everyday don't they?" she replied easily. He raised a blonde eyebrow.

"Maybe, but it is _always_ aggressive. _Always_ violent. They don't do picnics."

She shrugged again, feeling the piercing stare of their eyes.

"So? What's that got to do with us?"

The other soldiers shifted on the couches in frustration. The sergeant cast them a sidelong glance and they froze, resuming their stoic positions. He turned back, setting his eyes on Avery with a cool, controlled gaze.

"You just went for a nice little stroll in the forest, didn't you?"

Avery snorted.

"I was hunting game, hence the _hunting _rifle. You did see that, didn't you?"

The sergeant looked unperturbed by her scathing responses.

"I did see that you didn't use it, or even check your clip. Not that you really require the rifle anyway."

She eyed him, feeling her heart beat start to speed up. He cut her off before she could protest or explain.

"And, that's fine and all," he started in a mock casual tone. "Until you started running."

She froze, her heart beating unevenly. She felt her muscles start to tense and her hands quiver ever so slightly. She struggled to keep them still – she didn't want them to see her scared. Her stomach was still churning angrily but she didn't have the chance to pay attention to it.

"I had a few soldiers on your trail," he continued, "until you just up and disappeared entirely."

She had been holding her breath, her eyes locked on him as each word he spoke left a damning blow.

"So, how about you tell me," he oozed, rising to his feet, "what you know about 'strange locust activity'?" He pronounced the last words very slowly, as though he was dangling what he knew above her head like the proverbial carrot. It was only made worse by how much he literally towered over her.

She faltered, taking a small step back.

"And if you think you can start running now, don't bother. I've got the house on lockdown."

She looked over to her mother, terrified. Her mother had jumped to her feet, one hand still wrapped up anxiously in the cloth of her dress.

"What are you doing?" she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch, her bottom lip quivering with the urgency of her words. The sergeant raised his hand to silence her.

"Under section 16a of the Fortification Act, I am removing your daughter from your care for quarantine and further examination," he stated almost robotically.

"You can't do that!" her mother shrieked, rushing forward. Two soldiers strode over and held her back by her arms.

"Ma'am, yes I can."

Tears had begun spilling onto her rosy cheeks. The sergeant turned, his expression softening.

"Mrs. Chase…I'm sorry, but your daughter is suffering from some sort of illness, perhaps from imulsion exposure. Therefore, it is not safe for her to be around you or anyone else, and it is imperative that the COG study her. You never know how many countless thousands may benefit from this research."

Avery stood, one foot back, one foot stuck in spot. She wanted to run, wanted to tear through the door and take down as many as she could. She didn't hate the COG – heck, they saved her family a few times when she was younger – but she didn't want to be a science experiment either.

The softness had suddenly disappeared from the sergeant's face as he glanced at Avery.

"And if she should choose not to comply, we will have to take you in too."

Avery growled, incredulous at his quick change in tone. She threw her hands forward.

"Fine, go ahead asshole," she spat, and then immediately regretted it. The soldiers had lined up around him, looking more menacing than ever. She bit her tongue and puffed her chest out.

"Well?" she said, this time quieter. A soldier to his left took out some handcuffs and snapped them around her wrist.

"Why does she have to wear them!" her mother cried, trying to push past them.

"Just protocol," the sergeant muttered. He turned back to her mother as the soldiers marched Avery out the front door.

"We'll get back to you as soon as possible Mrs. Chase."

And with that, he pivoted on his heel and took up the rear behind the soldiers. They were leading Avery out at gun-point to the snowy front yard, where a large truck awaited.

She rushed out behind the group, but froze at the doorway as she watched them herd Avery into the back of the truck. The sergeant was standing beside it, facing her mother with a solemn face. Then, he raised his hand in a quick salute, and hopped into the truck. She watched on helplessly as the truck roared to life and turned onto the snowy road. A few moments later, it disappeared entirely, leaving her alone in the house.


	2. Make A Bet

Author's Note: Apologies for slowly bringing in canon-characters, but I don't want to rush the story. No reviews yet, so if you read, **please review**. It'd really make me a happy chappy. A side note that there _has _been a story name change. Hope it doesn't confuse anyone, but I feel this one is more appropriate.

**Warning:** Moderate coarse language. Don't say I didn't tell you.

Disclaimer: Seriously, ain't it obvious that I don't own Gears of War, and am not affiliated with it? Come on now.

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The truck ride was quiet, their glares almost accusatory. Had it been a routine arrest, each of them would have been thinking, '_it's your damn fault we're out here getting our nipples frozen off.' _But this wasn't routine, so they traveled quietly. Avery sat bunched up in the corner of the cell, her handcuffed wrists and restricted hands hanging listlessly on her lap. The handcuffs didn't really make a difference and she was sure the Gears sitting beside her knew it too. Hell, they were nervous and she could practically taste it. Now that their sergeant was sitting in the driver's compartment, now that they were all alone with her: well, their bravado had simply evaporated. Even the lancers resting on their knees looked a little light.

The ride extended for the greater part of an hour. She immediately began to feel the heat become oppressive, making her clothes cling to her moist skin. It was uncomfortable and she kept shifting, looking for a cool spot of metal to lean against. Every inch she took made a soldier in the cell flinch reflexively. She pretended not to notice. They were watching her in confusion, incredulity, considering they were freezing and she was not. After about half an hour of edgy stares, one of the Gears, a slighter soldier with a tuft of tawny hair on his head, decided to break the silence.

"So where are we gonna take her?" he asked the soldier sitting across from him. The other soldier, a considerably larger man with a cleft lip and dark eyes, glared at him.  
"Where do you think, dipshit?"

The tawny soldier's eyes widened in surprise. It was obvious that he was not used to this kind of reception from the larger man. He glanced rapidly at Avery before setting his eyes back on the man before him.

"The holding cells huh? Underneath Block B?" he continued, this time in a harder voice, although every slight quiver in his voice betrayed him. He swallowed. The large soldier nodded solemnly, his face relaxing slightly. He seemed almost glad that the smaller soldier got his drift.

'_Don't act weak in front of her,' _he was repeating to himself. The other soldiers in the cell seemed to have gotten hold of the thought. There was a sudden flurry of movement, slight mannerisms that generally, people wouldn't pick up on. Avery watched closely. They readjusted their lancers, reloaded, shifted in their seat, brushed their shirts and relaxed their shoulders. Her scowl deepened and she set her eyes back on her hands. A minute passed before another soldier, one sitting in the corner farthest from her, spoke up.

"You know who they're gonna bring in for it?"

The other soldiers looked over, their interest peaked.

"Is this a bet?" the soldier beside him piped up. The corner soldier grinned, his eyes lighting up.

"Alright, we'll make it a bet. My money's on that asshole from Delta."

There was an intake of breath and a small chuckle rose from the soldier sitting beside him. He was shaking his head rapidly.

"No way man, why the fuck would they do that?"

"Make me a bet and we'll see. Imulsion and Locust extraordinaire. Trust me. They've got the guy giving advice to Defense Staff man."

The man beside him was still shaking his head.

"Bullshit. They wouldn't use that guy if the whole base depended on it. I bet on that research scientist from Block C. What's his name?"

"Langley," another soldier supplemented. He nodded enthusiastically.

"Him. No doubt."

The corner soldier shrugged smugly.

"Alright man, we'll see." He settled back against the metal comfortably, as though his money was already secured. She was slightly surprised that they even _could _bet with money. Currency was rarely used in her town. They had reverted to a bartering system a long time ago.

The rest of the ride continued in silence as Avery mulled over their words. She resigned in her mind that yes, she was a veritable science project. She sighed, leaning her head back. Had it not been for her mother, she wouldn't have come along so easily, if at all. She didn't despise Gears – she knew that and she knew it well because it had been drummed into her via the endless stream of propaganda she faced. No, she didn't hate them. They saved her family once, and while it had only been once, she might not be here today if it hadn't been for that once. She knew she didn't owe them anything for it. Her father was conscripted not long after – his ability to evade them had only worked for so long.

'_An eye for an eye.' _

The debt had been repaid. She supposed it wasn't to do with any of that though. She just didn't like the _invasion of privacy_. They had been doing well until then. Avery was quite capable of defending her house and her mother. Their livelihood was trudging along, but at least it was moving.

_That's just what I can't stand. The interruption._

She shut her eyes, trying to swallow the literal bitterness rising in her throat. A few seconds later, the truck screeched to a stop and she slid across the seat, slamming into the wall. She rapidly clamped a hand over her mouth, shutting her eyes as she attempted to push down the bile. This wasn't exactly the best place to be sick. The Gears seemed to have noticed because they had shrunk away from her, watching her with wide, horrified eyes.

The large soldier leant forward, watching her.

"Just relax and focus on slowing your breathing. You can control it," he instructed her, his voice calm. The other soldiers stared at him in surprise. He glared back.

"Anyone here a fan of wearing someone else's sick? 'Cause if you are, let me know."

They looked away as the truck doors were yanked open roughly. A bombardment of noise distracted Avery. She glanced up, feeling the nausea subside. She focused her eyes and distantly made out some razor wire zigzagging along the horizon. Large sniper towers overlooked the large area. Choppers, or Ravens as they were technically known, dotted the icy blue sky. There was the thunder of wheels crunching along gravel somewhere behind, coupled with the shouts and scurried movement of a full-scale military base. The truck had been parked in a heavily populated concrete space. A large building backed onto the space, so she supposed it was a dock of some sort. Several other trucks and heavy duty vehicles were parked along the sides.

The sergeant's grim face suddenly came into view and the Gears immediately straightened up.

"Bring her out," he instructed gruffly. Two soldiers rounded the truck and came to stand behind him, their lancers held across their broad chests. She swallowed. Back at home, it was easy pickings in a fight. Here, she had a slim chance of getting out alive.

The Gears stood up and the large soldier took hold of her wrists and pulled her out gently behind him. Maybe he was still afraid of her throwing up all over him, so he moved rather cautiously. She hopped out of the truck behind him, her eyes scanning her environment rapidly. There were more buildings backing onto the space, which was bordered with what looked to be an electrified fence, complete with razor wiring, like messy scribbles, topping it off. Bits of snow hung off the wiring and dribbled down the fencing. The whole place seemed to be even higher security than the rest of the base. She didn't have to guess why.

Movement caught her eyes and she looked away, watching as several scientists, flanked by a group of soldiers, approached the truck. As they came closer, she noted the man walking at the head of the group. He was tall, bald and very broad, especially for an older man. She swallowed when she saw the sergeant salute him.

"Colonel Hoffman," the man greeted him solemnly. Hoffman nodded vaguely in his direction: he was too busy inspecting the prisoner. Avery stared up at him, feeling her heart race painfully in her chest. Hoffman hadn't done or said a thing, and yet she was terrified of him. He seemed to command too much power for one man. She wondered what it must be like to be Chairman Prescott.

"Avery Chase is it?" he asked her sharply. She nodded mutely. This seemed to satisfy him because he cast his attention to the sergeant.

"Take her to Observation Room 4, Block B, understand?"

The sergeant nodded and looked back at his squad.  
"You heard him," he said gruffly. The Gears nodded, making a neat circle around Avery, the large man heading the group. They marched her off towards the central building. The sergeant hung back with Hoffman.

"Did you get footage?" Hoffman asked, still watching her. The sergeant nodded.

"Yes sir. Plenty of evidence, sir."

Hoffman glanced at him suddenly, frowning. The expression passed.

"Have your men bring it down to the labs as soon as it's processed."

"Yes sir."

They stood in silence for a moment as the squad approached the entrance to Block B. Large, double doors slid open efficiently. They disappeared inside.

"Is it impressive?" Hoffman asked after a second. The sergeant swallowed.

"Scary, sir."

Hoffman did a double take of the sergeant's face before he hurried off after the squad.

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Read and Review! This is part of a double chapter. An appearance from Delta squad next chap.


	3. Room 4

Author's Note: read and review =) it's appreciated. So are suggestions!

**Warning: **Contains **strong coarse** **language**.

Disclaimer: I don't know and am not affiliated with Gears of War…unfortunately.

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Today was a miraculous day. Today was a free day. He couldn't believe it was actually happening, so that morning, Damon Baird had spent at least five minutes staring at himself in the mirror as mid-noon sunlight filtered into his tiny room. It was the first time in a _long _time that he hadn't been woken up at five, or six. Today, he got up at 12. And hell, he had enjoyed it. He promised himself he wouldn't do any work, though he knew it was something he couldn't entirely avoid. It was hard-wired into him – not working hard, but figuring things out – and he wouldn't rest until he had made a puzzle piece fit into its right spot. The pile of translation papers, held down by his snub-pistol, which to his satisfaction had today taken on the role of paperweight, was waiting expectantly for him. He didn't mind it much. He was going to indulge at least a little bit. The rest of his squad was already down at the cafeteria, where he knew they had probably spent the entire morning. He intended to go down too, grab something to eat and bring something back with him, and then spend his afternoon _leisurely _analyzing the papers. There was a reason his sarcasm was endured – no other man in the COG actually enjoyed sifting through interpretations. Cole had asked him once about it, and as he locked his door, he grinned at the memory.

"No way you enjoy doin' that shit baby."

He had rolled his eyes then, stifling a chuckle at how Cole found it so completely and utterly _unfathomable_. He supposed he just enjoyed fixing things, working out the kinks.

_Hell, it's all I'm good for._

His thoughts had taken a bitter turn, so he tried to shrug them off. The hallways were abuzz with cheerfulness, and even though he couldn't muster anything more than a sour scowl most of the time, he could sort of feel the cheer seeping into him. Free days were rare; _extremely _rare. It wasn't that the entire COG sat down and put their feet up, (although he didn't mind discussing how bureaucrats spent most of their careers doing that), it was that certain squads, (including, thankfully, Delta) were given their required rest day. It wasn't much but after fighting nonstop for the past six weeks, it was definitely welcome.

He strode down towards the cafeteria, where the murmur of conversation became louder as he approached. Eating was the favourite pastime of any Gear, provided he didn't have a woman.

He passed beneath the large sign that proclaimed CAFETERIA, his eyes expertly scanning the mammoth room. It was flanked on either side by long hot food bars, attended on by soldiers and women in hairnets. The cafeteria represented more than a place to get food – it was like a playground, a social gathering, a spot for the escapist to indulge in.

A loud whistle caught his attention and he turned to the right, spotting the gargantuan Cole Train towering over a small cafeteria table and surrounded by plates of food. Dom sat beside him, a grin on his face. Marcus hunched opposite them, and surprisingly, he had craned his neck to give Damon a glare that said, _afternoon, bastard._

He sauntered over, giving a mock salute to his sergeant.

"Afternoon, ladies," he crooned, his voice dripping with mockery. Old habits were hard to break, even on a good day. Cole barely noticed; he was grinning from ear to ear, a piece of greasy chicken in one hand and a huge glass of lemonade in the other. He took a long chug from the cup, set it down and continued grinning.

"Eat up baby!" he exclaimed, pushing a plate stacked with pasta and chips towards Damon. This time, he had no complaints. He stuck in quickly, barely aware that Dom had thrown in a snide comment about his poor eating habits. He was too overjoyed to respond properly.

"Fuck you," was all he managed between mouthfuls. It was blissful almost, because it was the one day that they hadn't spent arguing or turning Locust faces to porridge. It was unfortunate, then, that as it so happened, a soldier with specific instructions to locate Damon Baird was on his way to Administration, looking to broadcast over the speaker-system that he get his white ass down to Block B. For now, Delta squad sat in peace, unaware.

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It was a gross lie, because Room 4 wasn't a room at all. It was more of an auditorium, without that specific purpose. They had marched her down a dark stairwell and then shoved her into a lift. It was a crowded ride down, and down, and down, with no specific numbering system to tell her just how _far down _she was. The hallways in Block B were sterile white, not a speck of dust anywhere and soundless, apart from the low hum of some machinery reverberating through the halls. She had entered Room 4 via some backdoor, because when she was inside, she realized there were other entrances into it. One wall was lined with mirrors half the way down, which she was positive held behind it a panel of scuttling and babbling researchers cowering away at their computers and telephones, always bringing in someone higher in rank and larger in size to "see this." No doubt, a maze of hallways and rooms branched away from them to the rest of the Block.

The other walls of Room 4 were empty, unadorned. There were no windows, nothing to mar the barrenness of the walls, apart from a wide slit that she supposed was an air-conditioning system. There was no furniture inside, except a single bed pushed into a corner, opposite the mirrors, and a small cubicle at the other end of the hall that housed a toilet and wash basin. Apart from these things, the 'room' was empty. She didn't understand why it had to be so damn large, but she was determined to ignore everything. She sat with her back against the bed and stared unflinchingly at the mirrors. She refused to move, and tried her best not to blink. She didn't want to give them anything to work with. She kept up the bravery for what seemed like an hour, but she was starting to worry when what seemed like another hour passed and nothing happened. She stood up and started pacing the room, unable to stop the movement. She felt like she wanted to do a lot more, and it required all of her willpower to control herself.

Unwittingly, she found herself approaching the long mirror. She came up close, almost pressing her nose against it. Her breath was fogging up the mirror, but she continued to stare at it, taking in her reflection. Dark circles, like bruises, rounded her eyes. It was the exception to her bright, clear skin. Her eyes were alert, her shaggy hair clean. Her appearance of health had often attracted negative reception in her town. Good health meant good food and a reservoir of medicine to draw from. She wasn't skinny, starving like most girls her age, she was well built and muscular, and she slept fine at night. She was painfully aware of these things but she couldn't justify them. She couldn't explain to people exactly why, and why they should stop remarking about it. She couldn't tell them that they should be thankful for it.

She turned as the heavy, steel door beside the long stretch of mirror creaked open. She took a small step back, squaring her body towards the door. Someone out there must've read her sudden fear of Hoffman, because they had sent him in. She froze, gritting her jaw. He stepped into the room, looking around the large hall slowly and calmly. The door shut behind him, electronically bolting shut. He turned to her robotically, his eyes finding hers. She felt her muscles tense, her hands close into fists. He approached her unhurriedly, his large black boots squelching on the tiles. The sound echoed eerily in the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing clearly in her ears. He stopped before her and tilted his head slightly to gaze down at her.

"I won't waste my time," he began coolly. Her heart began to thrum in her chest. "I'll get straight to the point. You've been bought here because of your…abilities. And I am requesting that you show them to me," he instructed her simply. She lifted her eyebrow slightly, feeling rage and a fleeting courage bubble up in her. She gritted her teeth, stared at him for a few seconds more, and then turned away.

"Show you what?" she asked innocuously, though she wasn't waiting for an answer. She headed over to the bed and slid back down into a sitting position. She gazed at the mirror, aware that Hoffman was glaring at her.

A moment of silence passed between them and then he let out a sharp sigh.

"Fine."

He pivoted on his heel and approached the steel door. The light above the door flickered green and the door slid open slowly. He disappeared inside, leaving her in the large, empty hall.

"Does she actually think we're that stupid?" the small research scientist sitting at the main computer scoffed. Hoffman glared at him.

"Do you have the footage yet?" he barked. The scientist shrunk at the computer and tapped at the keyboard. A second later, he replied meekly, "Almost."

Hoffman folded his large arms over his chest, impatience and the girl's words grating on his nerves. He wanted to go back inside and grab her shoulders and shake her, tell her how many lives were being lost right that second because she was wasting time. He stared out the glass at her. She seemed to stare right back at him, her grey eyes hard and unmoving. He sighed again and turned to a stack of papers being spewed out of a machine on the desk before him.

"Did you send for the people I asked for?" he asked a soldier standing at the door. The soldier nodded rapidly, even though he was double and triple-checking that he did actually tell Simmons to go up to Administration. Yes, he had, because he could hear Simmon's hoarse voice in his ear now.

"Langley, Mercer, Baird…what the fuck? Why is he asking for that asshole?"

He wanted to smile at how much the Gear had accumulated collective hatred, but he didn't. He kept his face straight, watching Hoffman grip the edge of the desk with an anger that threatened to snap off the edge of the table. He had returned to staring at the girl with his cold, stone-like eyes. Maybe he was trying to break her down with his sheer mental force.

The soldier didn't put it past Hoffman.

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r&r


	4. Emergence

_A.N: Thank you to the reviewers, I really appreciate it =) _

_Jonesybites – I did change the title of the story. Hope it hasn't been too confusing._

_I'm not sure if I should continue the story, so if anyone is really enjoying it and wants me to continue, do let me know. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own and am not affiliated with Gears of War._

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"Never believe the COG. Never believe what they tell you about the Locust."

She clenched her eyes tightly, pulling the bed sheets close to her chin. Her daughter's words echoed in the recesses of her mind, eerie and pertinent. Around her, grotesque, spindly shadows lurched and reached across the wallpaper. The glass wasn't shaking as violently now but she could still feel the tremors dancing beneath the thin floorboards, stretching eternally into the damp earth beneath. A tear drop slipped from between her eyelids and she began fearfully whispering a prayer she had rote learned in her youth. The words came out with a gust of cold breath rising in wisps around her. The room was icy and icier still that she could not hear Avery suddenly leap from her bed and fumble about in her bedroom.

"Let me tell you ma," Avery had informed her steadily months ago, training her with unwavering eyes, "Those locust aren't as stupid as we're told they are. No ma'am," she murmured, turning to gaze out the kitchen window.

She shut her eyes, feeling her memories nag aggressively at her. It was something inescapable – every time the sound of the screen door slamming jolted her from sleep, she was dragged into what had happened. She shut her eyes, a flurry of images leaping up like pictures on an old screen – first fuzzy, then blurry and then suddenly sharp and clear. She watched on helplessly as the movie began to play…

* * *

She had been missing close to three months. By the end of it, Elaine Chase had given up on her daughter. The war was vicious. Many did not survive and no one expected them to. It was considered fact: If you get lost in the forest, you will meet one of three inevitable ends: starve to death, freeze to death or be killed by locust. She was shaken then to find that her daughter had returned, harmed by none.

Her disappearance had seemed common enough: she went out on a cool Friday morning with a rifle slung over her shoulder in the hopes of catching whatever game was left in the dwindling forest. Elaine had warned her often but knew too that it was something that had to be done. Between fighting Locust and fighting the cold, one had to find food. She offered to accompany her daughter, but Avery would never allow it. She considered it her responsibility and Elaine could no longer argue with her. It often took a few hours before she brought anything back, even something measly, so at first, Elaine thought nothing of her absence. She set about preparing the few vegetables she had raised in her garden while she waited for Avery. She glanced out the kitchen window regularly, expecting her thin, weary daughter to slip through the line of trees, a small creature clutched between her white fingers. When the clock passed five, Elaine went into the yard and cautiously approached the line of trees. It was freezing outside and she pulled her patchy, woolen jacket tightly around her.

"Avery! Can you hear me?"

Silent minutes passed. Biting her lip, she parted the knife-like branches and began stalking through the forest, well aware that she was unarmed and all the dangers that came along with that fact. She didn't have time to return to the house. Her heart was racing painfully fast in her chest as the realization began to dawn on her. She had marched as far as she could into the forest – any further and she would lose her way. She called out again, her voice quivering under the weight of her fear. Again, there was no answer. She marched back to the house, unaware of time and space. Her neighbor was home – a wisp of smoke curled away from the tip of the chimney. Elaine sloshed through their front drive and hammered on the door. Mrs. Ledo ushered Elaine inside rapidly and sat the trembling women down before a small fire. The heater sat neglected and broken in the corner.

"What happened?" she asked her, holding her shoulders to still the shaking.

"Avery…she's gone. I can't find her."

Her bottom lip had begun trembling and she held her face in her hands as tears spilled freely onto her cheeks.

"How did it happen?" her neighbor inquired, her voice grim.

"She…went out to hunt…perhaps she has gotten lost," Elaine managed between sobs. Mrs. Ledo had settled back into the chair, her eyes focused on Elaine and her lips pursed into a thin line. She didn't want to say it, though her silence probably spoke for itself. Even if Avery had gotten lost, the chances of her return were extremely slim. Locust attacks were becoming quite severe, despite their sporadic nature.

So it was that Elaine spent the next two months standing at the screen door, watching the trees while she wrung her dress nervously between her slender fingers – it was a habit she never lost. Sometimes she would dare to venture into the forest, her shotgun held unsteadily in her hands as she staggered between the trees. It was useless, she knew, but somewhere inside of her there was a hope that she would stumble across her daughter in a clearing somewhere. That she would be cold and hungry but she would be alive, unharmed.

Elaine slept rarely, always attempting to beat the hope out of her mind. It was useless and she was ruining what she had left of her life with the constant wishful thinking. It was harsh and she would never tell another parent to do the same, but circumstances demanded it. The apologetic but helpless looks she found in her neighbors only exacerbated her feelings. It was vital that she focused on her survival. She fooled herself into thinking that it was exactly what she was doing, although she had lost an immense amount of weight and her hair was falling out in clumps. Survival, that's what she had termed it. She was still around and so she was a survivor, battling the Locust in that small way. Her existence was defiance, despite the slow creep of death inside of her. So on a Sunday evening when she had crawled into bed and slowly pulled the lumpy blanket over her bony torso, a light rap on the back door had warranted an examination of her mental state. Hallucinations were not far off she knew, considering she barely ate or left her room in recent times. This was just another step in her deterioration, her "survival", so she allowed it. She shut her eyes, feeling her breath laboring in her chest. She was drifting off to a dreamless, restless sleep when the rap came again, stronger and more forceful. Now she sat up in bed, straining her ears. Jumbled thoughts tugged at her. Locust didn't knock on doors, did they? She smiled emptily at the ridiculous thought. She got out of bed and shuffled to the back door, a sudden burst of energy coursing through her. The knock came again, but it was more of a pounding, causing the walls around the door frame to reverberate. She slid the shotgun off the kitchen table, flicked on a small lamp and approached the door cautiously. The gun was heavy in her small, spindly hands. She tightened her grip and unlocked the door. A gust of wind pushed it open and she stepped back, raising the shotgun high before her. It was murky outside and she could see nothing beyond the screen door. Suddenly, from the gloom came a voice.

"Mama it's me."

Her heart felt like a small, insignificant stone dropping into her stomach. She froze, the shotgun still pointed at the door. Avery was struggling with the handle, trying to open the door.

"It's locked ma, you wanna open it?" she said, a smile in her voice.

Elaine snapped back into reality. She practically threw her shotgun onto the table and lurched forward, unlocking the door and shoving it open. Avery was stomping her boots on the step, still hidden in shadow. Her breath was coming in short rasps as she stared at her daughter warily. Elaine wanted to see her but at the same time she didn't. She wasn't nervous – she was scared.

"Come inside dear, it's cold," she choked out, feeling the irony sting her. Three months in the cold didn't seem to have done much.

She was done stomping her boots, so Avery stepped onto the landing, the light from the kitchen illuminating her frame. Her mouth dropped open as she took in her mother's gaunt appearance, who in turn was gaping at her daughter.

"What happened to you ma?" she asked incredulously, stepping further into the kitchen. She pushed the door closed with one swift, powerful movement. Elaine continued to stare, anxious tremors erupting in her body every few seconds. Avery looked like the cold didn't exist. She seemed taller, more muscular. Her skin was bright, apart from bruise-like circles beneath her eyes. The whites of her eyes were clear and her long, white teeth gleamed in the light – she looked unharmed. She looked _healthier. _

"What happened? Are you sick ma? I'm so sorry I took so long," she exclaimed, removing the rifle from her shoulder. Elaine swallowed, taking a small step backwards. Avery's clothes looked exactly as they had when she left. The rifle looked untouched.

"It's just, I went out and I spotted a rabbit! Would you believe it? I was so determined to get it, but the damn thing managed to dodge all my bullets. Now would you believe _that_!" she explained, grinning. "Somehow, I lost track of time and I still didn't catch the bastard. The dark came on so quick, too."

Elaine stepped back again, feeling the wall close behind her. There was nowhere else to go.

"What…what do you mean Avery?" she stammered, her hands trembling.

Avery frowned, but a confused smile lingered.

"I don't…understand."

"Avery…how long have you been gone?"

The smile slid from her face and she knit her eyebrows together.

"A day or so I think…why?"

Elaine had raised a hand to her mouth, barely able to contain her horror. Avery's eyes widened and she moved forward. Her mother flinched.

"What is it? What's wrong? Has something happened?"

She was unable to speak so she just stared at her daughter. She was terrified and though she'd never admit it to herself, she was dismayed the shotgun was too far from her to grab.

"You've been gone for nearly three months Avery…you went missing…"

Her daughter gaped incredulously. Suddenly an uneasy smile flashed across her face.  
"You're pulling my leg ma…" she murmured, faltering on the last words as she realized her mother's appearance. It wasn't something that happened in one or two days. She pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and collapsed into it. Elaine stared at her daughter in amazement – for the first time in a long time, her frame occupied the entire chair.

Suddenly, Elaine collapsed against the wall, crumpling into a heap on the floor. It had only dawned on her the most important fact – Avery had returned.

"I've been so worried," she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. Avery jumped to her feet and rushed over to her mother.

"It's okay ma, I'm here now. No need to worry any more. Come on." With a swift, graceful movement, she lifted her frail mother in her arms and carried her to the bedroom. Her mind was swarming with her words and she had a sudden feeling of being very disjointed, but she didn't want to reveal any of it to her mother. Elaine's previous horror had turned to joy. She banished the terror and reminded her that what mattered was that her daughter was safe. Avery lay her mother down gently in her bed and for the first time in three months, her eyes shut and she slept peacefully. Beside her bed, Avery stood in the darkness for a long time, thinking…

***

The tremors beneath her suddenly amplified, rumbling through her bed frame and causing her bones to rattle. Outside, the conifer tree shook, scratching its long branches against the bedroom window. Elaine leapt from bed, an unfamiliar fear making her stumble towards the window. She parted the sheer curtains slightly, peeking into the back yard. The darkness had settled into the forest like a thick blanket. She couldn't make anything out and she pulled away from the window, as though the longer she looked out, the more likely something terrible would happen. She pressed her back against the cool wall, trying to remember where she had put her shotgun. It had been a long time since she had used it.

The shaking jumped up another notch and the wall pressed against her back began to shift back and forth. She knew what this usually led to and she hoped it wouldn't be near the house. She strained her ears, waiting for the sound of the ground crumbling away in her backyard. The shaking had turned to a distant thunder, a roaring sound of rocks crumbling. It seemed to drag on for an eternity until, abruptly, there was silence again. Everything was still now. She let out a long breath and stepped away from the bed. She parted the curtains again – everything had remained the same. She frowned. It was unlike the Locust. Swallowing nervously, she returned to her bed to lie there restlessly.

* * *

_That's it folks! Sorry for such a long chapter but I thought it was necessary. Read and review! _


	5. Video

_A.N – I realize the story is slow to pick up and doesn't explain everything immediately, but this chapter will bring more of the situation to light. If it's the writing itself that's causing confusion, let me know. _

_JonesyBites: I'm not really sure why the last chapter was confusing, although adding "meanwhile, back at home…" would probably have made it a bit easier to understand. The chapter was about Avery's mother (Elaine), and was looking at her experiences that night as she stayed at the home alone, while Avery is at the COG base. I hope that clears it up and I'll make sure to explain the details more in future. _

_Warning: Strong coarse language_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Gears of War and am not affiliated with it. _

_For the sake of this chapter, let me introduce it with, __**"Earlier at the COG base…"**_

* * *

"A.J Langley, B. Mercer, D. Baird, please report to Administration immediately."

The squad was silent, all eyes immediately focused on Damon. He was staring blankly at his empty plate, his fingers drumming slowly on the table top.

Dom leant forward in his chair. "You gonna – "  
"I heard it," he grunted defensively, pushing away from the table. He sauntered away silently, his fists buried deeply in the pockets of his pants. It wasn't unlike him to sulk. They knew he'd let go a string of expletives as soon as he reached the person responsible.

"I sometimes feel sorry for that guy," Dom murmured, making sure to emphasize the _sometimes._ "It's his damn day off…"

Marcus was glaring after him with small, calculating eyes.

"Langley's the kid from Block C huh? Scientist?"

Dom nodded. Marcus continued to glare at the exit.

"I wonder what's up," Dom finished thoughtfully.

*~*~*

He had spent possibly a total of three hours of his free time before being hauled back to work. _At least I got to eat my fucking meal, _he thought bitterly, striding down the white halls towards Administration. _But when I find the fucker that wants me…_his thoughts drifted off, the possibilities of what he'd say becoming more and more acidic. He glanced out the glass windows lining the hallway. It was almost 3:30, but they were plunged in the depth of winter. The dark would settle onto the base soon.

The Administration office came up in front of him as he rounded the corner. He approached the counter and folded his arms on the surface, staring into the office coldly. The workers inside were scampering around hurriedly, barely aware of his presence. He clenched his fist.

"Uh, hello," he exclaimed sarcastically, waving his unclenched hand around. A small, mousey haired woman looked up from a computer in the corner. He raised his eyebrows, his lips pulled into a thin sneer.

"You called?" he drawled. She rushed over to him, giving him a once over. A red hue rose in her pale cheeks as she began to leaf through the order papers on the desk before her.

"Damon Baird," he said slowly, leaning over the counter to see the papers too.

"Oh!" she almost jumped as she located the paper sitting on its own beside the main pile. She looked up apologetically and pushed a strand of hair away from her face.

"Yes, yes. Colonel Hoffman is requesting to see you at…er…Block B. Just give your name at the office there and they'll let you in."

Damon's face scrunched into a frown.

"Block B?" he asked, his previous sarcasm having evaporated. He reached forward and snatched the paper from the nervous woman's hands. Her face turned a brighter shade of tomato. He didn't seem to notice. He scanned the paper quickly before letting it float back to the desk.

"Okay, thanks," he muttered, pivoting on his heel and disappearing down the hall.

*~*~*

It was as though the entire Block had been expecting the three men. Damon arrived just as Langley and Mercer approached from the other end, chatting heatedly. He wanted to roll his eyes. _Well aren't they chummy._ He held back the remark. If he was going to work with these guys on whatever the hell it was, he probably didn't want to upset them straight away. Later, maybe, but not now.

He reached the counter first. The soldier at the desk noticed him immediately.

"Simmons!" he barked. Another soldier emerged from the darkness a few seconds later and peered at the men from behind the counter.

"Yep that's them, let em in."

The bolted door beside the reception window beeped and the bolt slid back. The heavy door was pulled open, revealing a well lit room lined with computers. Simmons greeted the group, his Lancer held against his chest. Damon knew this place was heavily guarded, but he was astonished as he stepped into the room and noted that every person inside was a fully equipped Gear.

"Hoffman's this way."

They followed Simmons out of the computer room into a large hallway. Surprisingly, Block B took up more space than it let on. He led the group down the hallway to a lift. He had to scan a security card before the lift gave any signal. Damon raised his eyebrows.

"I see you guys don't miss any precautions here."

Langley and Mercer were silent, instead watching him with slight incredulity. They weren't used to Damon's gifted ability to speak at the most inappropriate times, and to say inappropriate things, too.

"Get used to it," Simmons answered coldly. He was _well-aware _of Damon's 'talent.'

The lift _dinged _and the doors slid open. The men shuffled inside and the lift jolted before traveling downwards with gut wrenching speed. Langley was clutching his stomach as they exited the lift.

"Is this still Block B?" Damon asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice. The façade had completely changed, the clean whites shifting to a dark grey. The hallways were lined with bare stone and most, if not all, doors were heavy steel and bolted. Simmons didn't reply, instead leading the group down to the left. A barred door confronted them and he pressed a large, black button that was embedded in the wall. A soldier approached immediately from behind the bars and scanned his security card. The lock clicked open and he pushed open the door. Simmons waited on the other side until the men had moved into the next hallway. Then he nodded to the soldier and marched back to the lift.

Hoffman was standing a little further down in the hallway, his shoulders squared and his jaw clenched. The men approached slowly, Damon with a little more bravado. He was familiar with Hoffman, and not just because of his history with Marcus. Hoffman had personally demoted Damon more than a few times for insubordinate behavior.

"Inside men. Take a seat," he instructed gruffly. They followed his orders, entering the room. It was large, but mostly empty, except for a table in the middle. A large screen was leaning against the wall in front of the table. A single door led off from the room and the sound of typing and murmuring drifted through. They sat down around the table, Langley and Mercer on one side, Damon on the other. Hoffman came in a few minutes later, a pile of files in his hands. He shut the door behind him with a single movement and stood at the head of the table beside the screen.

"Mercer."

Hoffman directed his gaze at the bald man and the scientist straightened up, his eyes wide.

"Do you recall the report on the seismic activity you completed several months ago?"

Mercer nodded, his eyes not leaving Hoffman's. Hoffman put the pile of papers onto the table and flicked through them until he located Mercer's. He slid it over to him.

"Please relate to the rest of us your findings on the stranded settlement at Sancta's Point."

Mercer pushed his glasses up on his nose nervously before leafing through the file.

"Well sir, my team and I were measuring the…the uh, seismic activity around Jacinto in order to collate trends on Locust strike points. Sir."

Damon frowned, leaning into the table. Mercer glanced at Hoffman nervously before continuing.

"Anyway sir, to cut it short, we discovered that there were pockets in the area around Ephyra that had escaped the Hammer of Dawn counter-measures and were able to relatively sustain life. After examining the pockets closely, we located a small town known to the locals as Sancta's Point, that had little, if any, seismic activity beneath and around it."

"So basically, there haven't been Locust attacks in the area?" Damon summed up. Mercer nodded and then shook his head.

"The absence of seismic activity was _recent_. We haven't been able to tell for how long the Point went undisturbed, so we can only assume that it has either been like that since E-Day, or has recently been spared attacks."

"We now know it is recent," Hoffman corrected. Damon glanced up at him.

"How?"

Mercer seemed confused also, staring up at the colonel.

Hoffman turned to the screen and tapped its frame. The screen switched on.

"We know it because we have located the possible source of what has been stopping the attacks."

Damon straightened up.

"You mean to tell me there's something out in some stranded town that can stop the Locust?"

Hoffman turned back to him.

"Not something, some_one_."

The screen flickered to life, paused onto a blurry image.

"What you are about to see, and I don't believe I should even have to say this, is completely confidential. If one of you bastards breathes a word of this to anyone, I will have you stripped of your position in the COG."

He seemed to be particularly eying Damon.  
"You might even join a stranded camp," he added, turning back to the screen. Damon swallowed, watching the screen.

The images started moving, the camera focusing. Whoever was filming was trying to zoom in between the trunks of trees. The location was icy and covered in snow. The vegetation looked harsh. The camera jolted a little before someone, probably a Gear, directed the camera-man.

"Over there, look," he whispered. The camera shook again as the camera-man moved to another spot, pushing the camera through the vegetation. A figure appeared further up, marching through a clearing in the forest. Damon leant forward, trying to make the person out. It looked to be a girl. She had a rifle slung over her shoulder and as she marched through the snow, she would glance around her warily. She wasn't wearing a jacket and was dressed in a loose, sleeveless shirt.

"Is that her?" the camera-man whispered in a hoarse voice.  
"Supposedly. I'd laugh if it is," his companion replied with a snort.

Suddenly, the girl stopped in her tracks. She slid the rifle off her shoulder and placed it on the ground. She started moving again, glancing around the trees as though she was searching for something. Then, seemingly having spotted whatever she was looking for, she started to jog. She had been jogging for only a few seconds, the camera-man slowly moving along the line of trees to capture her, before she started running faster. Her acceleration rapidly increased and the camera-man stopped, focusing the lens. Then, in the matter of a second or so, her pace quickened until she was nothing but a blur, melting amidst the snow.

"No fucking way," the camera-man breathed before leaping to his feet and rushing through the forest, the camera capturing the whir of a figure leaping between the trees. Suddenly, there was a loud crack before the figure disappeared between the conifers. The camera-man stumbled into the clearing after her.  
"What the fuck was that?" his companion whispered from behind.

"Look at that!" the camera-man exclaimed excitedly. He zoomed up on a tree that had been almost pulled from its roots and the trunk twisted awkwardly around the middle.

"She fuckin' do that?" the man murmured, reaching out from behind the camera to trace the twists in the trunk.

Hoffman switched the screen off. Damon didn't move for a second, his eyes transfixed on the screen.

"What…the fuck was that?" he muttered before looking up at Hoffman. "You got more footage?"

Hoffman shook his head, flinching at Damon's apparent lack of consideration for authority figures. He had rarely heard that man utter the word _sir _in his life.

"That's all we managed. We did, however, find a number of traps set up around the forest surrounding the girl's home, which supports the idea that it is her stopping the Locust."

"And yet, you have no proper clue as to what she can actually _do_ to stop them," Damon interrupted. Hoffman folded his arms across his chest.

"That's what you're all here to find out."  
Damon opened his mouth to speak but Hoffman silenced him.

"I want you find out how the hell she's stopping the Locust. You seem to know how those bastards work." He turned to the scientists. "Plus, I've got a bunch of geniuses in there telling me it's Imulsion exposure gone wrong and all the wonderful possibilities that have just revealed themselves. Just find out what the hell is going on."

He rubbed his forehead wearily and motioned to the door joined to the room. The men stared at him disbelievingly.

"You heard me!"

Damon glanced at the door as he rose to his feet.

"You tellin' me you got the girl here?"

Hoffman glared at him.

"No shit son."

* * *

Read and review.


	6. Spectacle

A.N: Massive apology for the break but I'm finally on holidays. Thank you to all the reviewers! This chapter is not really up to par, so I apologise ahead of time. Hopefully the next one will get back on track.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything in Gears of War.

They entered the cell quietly, barely shuffling in. The tension was thick, the wariness almost tangible. She sat with her back pressed against the cot, waiting until they stepped closer. At least two of them were muttering hastily between themselves. She glanced up, catching two of the scientists nudging each other surreptitiously, (or so they thought), their eyes darting nervously between her and each other. She analysed them as quick as she could, trying to adjust her responses accordingly. One of the scientists was balding and bespectacled, the other lanky and bushy haired. Finally, her eyes settled on the man walking slowly behind them. He was half hidden behind the tall one's shoulder, but as they approached, he stepped away. He was a soldier, no doubt, by the looks of his build. He was slighter than the hormone-fed Gears though – she guessed he made up for it with his mental capacity. He was watching her, a faint flush in his light skin, his sharp eyes careful. She stared down at the floor as her heart skipped a beat.

The two scientists had stopped a few metres from her. One of them yelped, after apparently having been nudged a bit too hard.

"He…hello! My name is A.J Langley," he introduced himself hurriedly. She continued staring at the floor between her feet. "This is Bernard Mercer, and Damon –"

"I didn't ask."

He stopped, stunned. The soldier, Damon, had moved further away from the two, his hands dug deep into his pockets as he watched her. Langley noticed his distance from her and shuffled closer.

"What's your name? We're not going to hurt –"

"Avery," she spat out, cutting him off again. He was silent.

"Avery Chase."

She looked up, taking the chance to swipe another look at all of them. Langley was standing the closest, Mercer practically clinging to his side.

"It's nice to meet you Avery," Langley stammered a few moments later. She raised her eyebrows briefly, a scathing response passing through her mind. She decided to stay silent. The scientists were exchanging glances and whispered instructions. She flashed a grim smile.

"I can hear you, you know that?"

The blonde soldier raised his eyebrows.

"Would I be so kind to show you what I can do? Really…Mercer, that your name? Would I be so kind?" she repeated sarcastically. Mercer's face flushed a bright red and he backed away a few inches.

"It's not that farfetched."

It was her turn to be surprised. She glanced over at Damon, who had moved closer. He was watching her intently, waiting for the response he was fishing for.

"I mean, if you were unkind, why'd you protect that stranded town?"

"They aren't 'stranded'," she corrected coolly, feeling her face flush. She realized her near confession and added, "I didn't protect them."

Damon moved closer, seeming to find his bait.

"I watched the video," he answered simply, keeping his eyes on her. Her face flushed a bright, guilty red. She looked down rapidly, averting his gaze.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"We all saw it, what you can do –"  
"If you can show us Avery, you could help every individual on Sera. This could win the war."  
She wanted to scoff – a reflexive reaction, despite knowing that what Langley said could, in some way, be true. Still, she felt strange about the whole thing. It was like revealing a very personal, dark secret to a crowd of strangers. She didn't even understand the damn thing herself, let alone be able to make others understand it.

"I don't want to," she said finally. Langley and Mercer glanced at Damon, apparently awaiting his next move. She rubbed her eyes, aware of the cop-out.

"You don't understand. I can't do it all the time."

"Yes you can," Damon pressed, coming to stand in front of her. He was gazing down at her. She clenched her jaw.

"No, I can't," she repeated. Damon shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and turned away.

"Fine. Tell Hoffman to bring her family in. Whoever, bring them in."

"What? No, you can't do that."

She jumped to her feet as the soldier was strolling back to the cell door. She skipped over to him in a flash, landing a hand on his shoulder and grabbing him, unwittingly, in a steel grasp. He winced, whipping around to face her. She expected him to be in pain, but instead he was grinning.

"Well there we go," he exclaimed. "Not so hard now."

She glared at him, lifting her hand. She was not that much shorter than him and could easily brawl, but for some reason, she stood back quietly, watching him.

"I'll make you a deal," he began smoothly.

"You show me what you can do, and I won't bring in your family. How's about that?"

If looks could kill, he'd be dead and buried. She nodded slowly, her eyes still plastered to his annoying, but rather attractive face.

"Okay. I'll show you _just _what I can do."

The scientists had come up beside Damon, the excitement dancing around in their eyes.

She moved to the centre of the cell and faced the far opposite wall. First, she took a good sidelong glance at the three men, and the countless soldiers and analysts standing behind the mirror. Then she started moving – fast. She had reached the back wall in a second, a mere blur whizzing between the sterile walls. It was as though there had been a collective intake of air. Damon was watching her incredulously, a hand on the top of his head, his blue eyes wide. She pivoted on her heel and repeated, stopping in front of him half a second later, the wind playing catch up and ruffling her messy hair.

"What the…" breathed Mercer. A faint hue of red had risen in Damon's cheeks and his silence was deafening.

"Damon, watch," she murmured, pushing past him. She went over to the large mirror. She looked up it – its size dwarfed her.  
"Tell Hoffman that if he wants my mama, I'll do this to him."

She lifted her fist and planted it directly in the thick, reinforced glass. It held for a moment, her fist taking a nice circular shape in the centre, before a deafening crack broke the silence and the mirror came rushing to the floor. She didn't move, letting it shower about her. Fine pieces of glass grazed her skin, then massive chunks falling away from the frame. On the other side, several stunned onlookers had jumped away from the mirror in obvious fright. The equipment was now clogged with tiny pieces of mirror. She came eye to eye with Hoffman, whose face was white, his expression livid.

"If you want my help, don't involve her, or anyone in that town. You understand?"

He didn't move for a second, unable to lift his eyes from the droplets of blood forming on her face and arms. Then he forced a nod. She turned around to catch the men moving to the cell door. The scientists were frazzled and nervous. Damon's face was blank.

"Hey where you going?" she called, stopping them in their tracks.

"You wanted to see everything, now you gotta stick around and see it."

She moved closest to Damon. She wanted to show him, to wipe the triumph off his face. She didn't know why, but it was burning her inside. She wanted him and the others to see that she wasn't a petty science experiment.

"Watch closely." She lifted her bloody hands towards him. He didn't flinch: she guessed he was used to seeing blood. She shut her eyes, taking a few deep breaths in. Seconds passed. He focused on the gashes, the blood dripping freely. Then the flow eased, slowly, and surely, the gashes became small nicks. The blood gradually stopped. She stared at him, clenching her jaw, feeling the nausea rising.

"Happy?"

He glanced away, rubbing his neck. She walked away, feeling the nausea gripping at her throat. She was clenching her jaw tightly, trying to avoid it, but the exertion proved too much. She picked up the small waste basket in the corner and threw up in it. It was acidic and angry and she could feel the rage still bubbling away in her. Drool dribbled down the side of her chin. She couldn't be bothered to wipe it off. She slid down against the cold wall, watching the three men slowly exit the cell. They would be back, undoubtedly and she hoped he would be amongst them.

R & R


	7. Lab Mice

A.N: Apologies for the shortness of this chapter.

Thank you to all the reviewers -

Legendary Neo-Jin: thanks for the input; I'm not terribly good with estimating size (other than the fairly vague words of "very big" and the like) so I'll keep it in mind haha.

For clarity sake, the first section of this chapter is unrelated to the characters we know – it's more of an "aside" taking place after the events of the last chapter.

_Read and review – it's always welcome._

Disclaimer: I don't own Gears of War.

**Lab Mice**

**South Ephyra, Birch Holt, 6:58 am**

"Remember the orders squad," the sergeant huffed into his comm. link.

Private Levi didn't know exactly _why _he was on the mission. He guessed it was a confidential hand-me-down from the upper echelons, and judging by the way his sergeant looked a little lost and very tight lipped, he knew he was right. Hell, he wanted to get the damn assignment done and dusted as fast as possible, regardless of the niceties. The snow was settling heavily in the forest and visibility was getting fuzzy.

"Run me through this again," Sam whispered to him as they knelt behind a wide birch. Levi squinted, trying to maintain focus on the movement ahead of him.

"Very simple Samuel. Find locust, kill said locust but capture a few. Good?"

Sam scratched at his helmet, letting his Longshot barrel dip into the snow.

"Why the hell would we do that man?"

Levi rolled his eyes, getting to his feet as the sergeant motioned to move up.

"Obviously," he started as they paused again, "to run tests on them, like little lab mice. Get it?"

Sam, who wasn't the sharpest tack but was a helluva sharpshooter, looked at him with wide eyes.

"Crazy," he breathed. A quick, reproving glance from the sergeant meant business. He rapidly fixed his hands on the Longshot and started moving.

Crazy was right, Levi thought. If you can't kill 'em, experiment on 'em.

"Bingo! Grub hole!" the sergeant barked, yanking him from his thoughts. The squad moved into offensive positions, but Levi didn't move too far from Sam, who he was tasked to protect. Good sharpshooter, but oblivious to the world when scoping.

Grubs began spewing out of the hole that had fallen through the snow, their faces twisted grotesquely in furious snarls. Levi let a burst of bullets, spending his magazine. He pulled back behind the trunk to reload.

"Flank on my mark!" shouted the sergeant. Four Gears, suited up in yowies, disappeared in the brush on either side of the squad. The grubs were ignorant of the sudden split. So far so good.

Sam had gotten into his pattern and was picking off grubs as they scrambled out of the hole.

"Easy pickings Private!" the sergeant commended him.

"Too easy," he replied – he got his kicks from one-shots. The camo Gears should have made it to the other side now, so that the hole was completely surrounded. Levi continued spraying bullets on the emerging grubs.

"Connelly! Get a frag in there!"

The nerves on the corporal's face were all too evident. He had to get this _just _right. Sam had taken his finger off the trigger but he was still in scope, in case things went pear shaped.

Three grubs had pulled themselves from the hole, armed with gnasher shotguns, their beady eyes searching between the snow capped trees. The cease-fire had stunned them, but it was the perfect condition to notice a well placed frag. The three grubs scrambled away from the frag in unison, their massive bodies crashing indiscriminately through the brush as the frag sent a shower of dirt and snow into the forest. This was the signpost. The camouflaged Gears burst from hiding, their Lancers pointed at the grubs' backs. The squad had also gotten to their feet, guns pointed. The grub nearest Connelly sent bullets in his direction – he managed to lodge one in his right shoulder. The grub was quickly dispatched, but not killed. Orders were orders. The remaining grubs sensed the defeat hanging in the air and let their guns drop slightly to their sides, though the wariness was coated on thickly.

In a flash, the yowie suits had fired tranquilizers into their massive thighs. The barely feigned murderous rage faded from their faces as they crumpled to a twitchy heap in the snow.

"I don't want to touch them," Sam murmured, his eyes glued to the mass. The Sergeant ignored him, radioing in the success.

"Start binding them."

* * *

Hoffman could barely contain himself. It had been a day since he hatched the idea, and since then, he had been eagerly awaiting the opportunity. The prisoner hadn't been interviewed since, but he had seen enough, tasted enough, to know what he could do. The research scientists wanted to _talk _to the prisoner a little more, _reason _and _explain _things. He didn't care. The war had cost too much for him to be sitting around having conversations. This is what mattered: this is what would save Sera.

The Gear – well, he understood a little better. Asshole as he was, he was no man of words, despite what he liked to think. He was a practical man, which was why he excelled at being a Gear. Hoffman harboured certain distaste for him, but he was acutely aware of the corporal's aptitude.

The precious cargo was housed under very tight security – naturally. The Board of Defense was nervous about the idea, but Hoffman had demanded it. They were the wordy kind too – lots of talk and no action. It would be an understatement to say he was cynical about the COG's progress. Who wasn't? He was determined to see the war through in his lifetime. The idea of another Colonel, spending as many years as he did and then assuming his place was unbearable. The war had to end now, not tomorrow, not fifteen years from now. He recouped his focus as he approached the cells.

The Gears had been expecting him. They saluted him swiftly, keyed in the access code and showed him in.

"The biggest one, show me the biggest."

The Gear standing outside the viewing room eyed him nervously, but didn't dare oppose. A hesitant moment passed and then a nod. He led him to the last door: inside, the same gaggle of scientists and burly Gears on overwatch spanned the long viewing room. Langley was poring over a set of papers, and he looked visibly shaken as Hoffman stepped to his side. Beyond the glass was darkness, but he could almost make out a hulking silhouette.

"It's very dangerous keeping this thing in here," he started angrily. "I'm keeping it under constant sedation to maintain docility but even that's a mean feat to –"

"Stop. Right now."

Langley's sudden bubble of confidence burst and he shrunk a few inches.

"We won't be keeping it for long. By the end of the day, it'll be out of your sight."

Langley didn't comprehend.

"How? Why? What's the point of bringin –"

He stopped mid-word when he understood.

"Terminated with extreme prejudice, understand?"

Langley was gaping at him. It was inhumane to think, impossible…but the certainty in Hoffman's eyes was unmistakable.

Hoffman turned away from the trembling scientist, shifting his eyes to the cell. It was large enough and easy to watch over.

"I'll bring in the girl this afternoon. I only want a _few_ people here." He hung on the word before continuing. "I'll bring in a Special Ops team."


	8. I Would've Been Your Daddy

A/N: I wasn't sure if I was going to continue this, but because of the interest shown in the story I'll plough ahead. Read and review and let me know what you think. And yes, the Chapter title is a reference to a Halo mission. It has a nice ring to it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gears of War, only OC's.

_Say you like it,_

_Say you need it,_

_Looking better,_

_Shining brighter._

_Trees there will be,_

_Apples, fruits maybe,_

_You know what I fear?_

_End is always near._

_~ We Share Our Mothers Health, The Knife_

**I Would've Been Your Daddy**

Hoffman had set up the Special Ops team like well-placed chess pieces. The 'Knights', standing on the balconies overlooking the cell like overgrowths, their sniper rifles resting tensely on the steel railing. Two 'Bishops', each standing in a small shady recess, shielded from the impending violence by rusted bars, the sights of their shotguns peeking into the darkened cell. It stunk, and was damp, suffocating humidity hanging in the air like a toxic cloud. He ignored it, scanning the arrangements from the viewing room. A gaggle of scientists were working frantically behind him – they were meant to be calculating something, but he knew better – they were scared shitless, murmuring to each other about ethics and consequences and vitriolic sentiments like that. He let their voices fade into the background, like white noise, and waited silently for the arrival of his Most Valuable Player. He was doing calculations of his own.

"Sir?" a meek voice squeaked beside him. He glared down, angry to be disturbed. Langley didn't even respond, instead angling his body towards the door. Hoffman followed his gaze. Two burly Gears had stepped into the room, followed by a figure with a hood over its head, its hands bound behind its back and its legs shackled. Hoffman could feel his heartbeat speed up in excitement – yes, excitement, he couldn't deny it – he was savouring the sight of his experiment coming to fruition. Two Gears were bringing up the six; their Lancers pointed at the prisoner's back, almost skimming her shirt. Avery was shuffling in very slowly, with her head bent. Baird came in a few seconds later, followed by Mercer, who was clutching a clipboard to his chest and looking terrified. An ominous silence was hanging thickly in the room. Hoffman's voice cut through it immediately. He wouldn't dare let it linger, or give it power. He spoke directly to the leading Gear.

"I've got the Spec-Ops team set up in the cell – we've got over watch with Long-Shots, and men on standby with Pump Actions. Your men will be on standby in this room, at all exits, and at the viewing window once it begins, got it?"

The Gear nodded and motioned for the soldiers to take up their positions. Avery was slowly herded to the entry door into the cell. Hoffman strode over to her side.

"You will be let through this door, into the security area. After you are in, this door will be shut, and the automatic door to the cell will be opened. You have been debriefed about your task, so I do not need to repeat that your sole mission is to survive. I trust you can remove the shackles yourself."

With that, he gave her a slight push and she stumbled into the security area. The door was quickly shut behind her and locked. All eyes turned to the security monitors as the automatic door to the cell glided up. Avery had not moved – she was still hooded and shackled, standing in the corner of the security area. The murkiness in the cell was heavy.

"Turn the lights on," Hoffman barked. "I want to see the goddamn thing."

The overhead spotlights snapped on, bathing the dirty, cold cell in bright light and revealing to Hoffman the very thing he had fought against and had fought to be brought here. A hulking Locust Drone was standing against the back wall, standing at over 7 foot. It had bared its teeth angrily, but it was squinting, suffering flash blindness from the spotlights. It let out a low menacing growl and was steadying itself against the cell walls. No doubt the blindness would dissipate in a few seconds. Avery still stood motionless in the security area.

"Sir, why is she not moving? Has she been debriefed? I'm not sure she even knows what she's-" Langley exclaimed.

"Quiet!" barked Hoffman. "She knows what she's doing," he said stoically, focusing intently on the security monitors. The Drone had overcome the blindness and was darting its eyes around the cell, apparently noting the Longshots and having prioritized the open security door as more significant. It was moving slowly towards the door, a low snarl dripping from its lips.

"She's not moving," Langley murmured. Hoffman's angry outburst hadn't extinguished his tension. Hoffman was glaring at the monitor, as if he was willing her to move.

"She knows what she's doing damn it," he muttered, gripping the edge of the desk so fiercely his knuckles turned white. As if hearing his thoughts, movement flickered on the monitors. A ripple of relief washed over everyone in the room and they inched closer to the monitors. Avery was shuffling again, moving to the centre of the security area.

"Take off the bloody shackles," Hoffman hissed, but his voice edged on fear. Baird couldn't help but watch him too, fascinated – what was he afraid of? Afraid of her getting hurt, or afraid of his 'experiment' failing?

The Drone had almost reached the entry of the security area. It was aware that somebody was there, and something was amiss. Avery had stopped moving again. Hoffman was gripping the desk even tighter now, leaning his entire weight on it. It sagged beneath him, threatening to give way, but no one noticed. Finally the Drone stepped before the security area, though it was still a few metres away from Avery. It was motionless a second, taking in the peculiar sight of a shackled, hooded human. What was it? An offering? A sacrifice? The Drone, sensing that things were not as they seemed, tossed its scaly head back and let out a terrifying yowl that reverberated around the walls of the cell. Suddenly, as if the truth had materialized before her, Avery pulled her wrists in opposite directions, snapping the cuffs off. She tore the hood off her face and bent down, snapping the shackle chain rapidly. Her expression was hard to read, almost blank, except for the calculating look in her eyes. She immediately caught the yellowed gaze of the Drone, who was still again. It was as though they were measuring each other up, sizing up the opposition; and maybe, just maybe they were both a little reluctant to be there.

"What the hell?" Damon breathed, pushing one of the scientists aside to get a better look at the monitor.

Inside the security area, Avery's heart was thudding painfully in her chest. Her lungs felt constricted, like she was still shackled. Still she held the gaze of the Drone, who was statuesque. There was something so familiar about the tango they were involved in now – the peaceful silence before the battle. And there was something else, a sense of déjà vu that weighed her mind down. She didn't _want_ to move now, she just wanted to think and try to remember…

But the Drone had snapped out of it faster than she, had shaken off the restraints of the surreal, dreamlike imagery before it, and was launching towards her with a snarl. She snapped back into it too, though it was too late. A great long fingernail had dug into her forearm, drawing a spurt of bright blood. She howled in pain, pulling her arm back and launching into a lightning fast sprint. She dodged the towering figure into the cold cell. The spotlights lit up the wound on her arm, her blood glowing sickly in the light. The Drone had turned around, realizing she was no longer in its grasp, and was heading towards her. It was agile too, despite its size, wielding sharp nails and fists ready to crush her skull. The Longshots above were training their sights on the Drone's head as it entered the cell.

Avery had moved back into a corner, though now she was prepared for its advance. She dodged a well-placed king-hit, grabbing its fist and pushing the Drone back. She had learnt that to use outright force was often unwise: given the size differences, the Drone would gather enough momentum for her to use against it. All she had to do was redirect it. The Drone had stumbled slightly, but was launching again. This time she grabbed the wrist with one hand, using the other to push against the chest under the other arm. One of its legs buckled and the Drone fell to the floor. Avery saw her opportunity, planting a solid kick in the chest, enough to push the Drone flat onto the floor. But she hadn't fatally injured the Drone – merely disorientated it. The realization that the debriefing would run according to plan – that she would have to _kill_ the Drone in order to get out of here – hit her like a bullet. In a split second, she had launched into a king hit. A sickening crack echoed in the cell as the Drone's head hit the floor. It howled in pain, though it was too enraged to let the pain hold it down. It grabbed Avery's ankle, pulling her down to the ground with a loud thud. The air escaped from her, leaving her breathless. Long nails were digging into her leg. She could feel the blood beginning to pool around them. She screamed, kicking at the hand with her free leg. The Drone let go and she hobbled to her feet. Blood was pouring freely down her calf now. The Drone, now on its feet, swung a huge fist, hitting her in the side of the head. She flew two metres, landing roughly on her knees and hands, pinpricks of pain shooting up into her limbs. She could see stars dancing in front of her eyes, and a stabbing pain was roaring through her head. She clenched her jaw, screaming at herself to get up, to try again, to do better, to _survive._

She scrambled to her feet as the Drone was launching at her again. She took a deep breath, knowing what was coming, knowing how to end it.

The Drone was rushing at her, expertly angling one side of its body towards her as it gathered momentum to land a skull-crushing hit. She kept her eyes trained on its fist, waiting for the hit. The Drone pulled back and swung, and as the fist travelled at her head, she raised her hands, grabbing the fist and holding it, her other hand landing squarely on the Drone's chest. Its eyes widened in surprise before it startled to struggle from her grasp, but it wasn't enough. She held on tightly to the fist, keeping the Drone locked squarely to her. The Drone had grown still, glaring down at her face. Her hand was starting to tingle and burn. She shut her eyes, sucking in a deep breath. Suddenly the Drone started to snarl, angrily at first, and loudly, and then shriek piercingly loud, until the shrieks became quieter. A few seconds later and it was no longer shrieking, but its knees were buckling under its weight and its eyes shutting slowly. She guided the body to the floor but kept her hand firmly on the chest. The blood had stopped flowing from her wounds, starting to dry up.

"You're recording this right?" Damon breathed. Langley nodded, too stunned to even say anything.

Avery could feel the Drone, its energy, pulsing through her. In fact, she could feel _like_ the Drone the more she kept her hand there. It was burning now, a bright searing pain that was dulled only by the adrenaline that was now coursing through her veins. The gaping holes in her skin were starting to pull themselves together now, the blood flow completely stopped. And like the flick of a light switch, she knew it was done. The Drone lay on the floor, almost peacefully, like it was sleeping, if they slept (she wasn't sure). She released her grasp, her chest heaving and the feeling of nausea starting to ripple through her. But it was something else too, something rising uncontrollably –

The security area door burst open and Hoffman charged in, preceded by two Gears who approached the body of the Drone. One of them leant beside it, putting a single finger on its major pulse areas. Avery suddenly felt something erupt in her and she quickly wrapped a hand around the Gears neck, closing it forcefully. She could feel her fingers make indentations in his neck, his pulse bouncing unevenly against her skin. He was choking, letting out a gurgling noise and pushing at her with his flailing arms. Hoffman barked at the Longshots something indecipherable – she wasn't focusing, only thinking about how long it would take to kill this Gear before she could start on the other. And then her grasp was easing and her mind was fogging up. She could only vaguely make out the tranquilizer dart sticking out of her neck and she collapsed to the ground, sleepiness descending like a warm blanket. She was dreaming already, of dark places and the icy woods at home…

R&R


End file.
